


Wayfarer

by Varaen



Series: Cuiviénen AU [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Avari, GFY, Gen, I hate the piped tags but I hate the Sindarin names more, Rule 63, Tags updated as I write, Tatyar, The Noldor, Tons of OCs, We will all suffer together, especially when they make no fucking sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varaen/pseuds/Varaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Míriel refused to go on the Great Journey and raised her son Fëanárë at the shores of Cuiviénen. Over two hundred (Valian) years later, a sailing vessel reaches the shores of Tol Eressëa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngstyChaosMagicUser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstyChaosMagicUser/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Alopaynay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652928) by [uumuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu). 



> Inspired as well by [this prompt](http://silmarillionkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1329.html?thread=124465) on the Silmarillion kinkmeme.

Falmarin sailors had been watching the unfamiliar boat for several days until it finally reached the shores of Tol Eressëa. Gossip spread and messengers were sent to between Minyalondë and Alqualondë, since the strangers were the most interesting thing to happen in Valinor since the construction of the second seaport.

The first hope, that it was their lost Lindar kin from across the sea was quickly squashed. The ship held little resemblance to the swan-ships of the Falmari, except for those similarities that made them ships. Of the six mariners crewing the ship, four were red-headed, one had black hair and the last had hair so fair it shone almost white in the rays of treelight. More messengers were sent, to the loremasters of Tirion for translators and to the court of king Finwë to meet their Avari kin.

The ship was guided into the harbor of Minyalondë, surrounded by small fishing vessels full of curious elves who wanted to catch a glimpse of the strange elves. At the quay, a welcoming party stood waiting, comprised of curious loremasters and important dignitaries, who, among the Noldor, they are often one and the same, led by their king, Finwë, and king Olwë of Alqualondë surrounded by the more curious members of his court.

They berthed with the fluidity of a practiced unit, adapting to the falmarin appliances without visible trouble, and disembarked in pairs at the command of their black haired leader.

What a sight they made! The older Noldor felt reminiscent of their youth, while the younger elves had never seen anything so foreign, exotic and scandalous. The leader’s long black hair shone with silver, and his skin was pale, where it was not covered with red ink. He wore only unbleached breeches that were loose around his thighs and tucked into knee-high leather boots. Around his hips was a colourful embroidered belt, and in his hair he wore trinkets of silver with gems that shone like stars. His companion was an elf-maid who wore similar clothing, as scandalously barechested as he, with hair the colour of flame.

After them came a tall red-haired elf and his silver-haired female companion, followed by the last pair. They both had hair the colour of burnished copper, but she had skin as dark as the treeless night, and her tattoos were silver instead of the red of the others.

Their belts all showed different designs and different colours, and their jewelry was made of different kinds of metal, but that was the main difference in their clothing, with little to indicate status or trade as was customary amongst the Amanyar. Instead, their hair was partially braided and partially shorn into the most outrageous styles imaginable.

Finwë ignored the scandalized chatter of the younger elves and greeted the Tatyar as he remembered from his youth: Arms spread to the sides, palms flat and facing upwards, hopeful that customs had not changed and that his body language would convey what language barriers would not allow his words to tell.

“Be welcome in the Blessed Realm, my kin.”

His counterpart smiled at the gesture and listened with a frown.

“Hantade,” he acknowledged with a bow. Then he paused, frowned again, and finally pointed at himself.

“Fëanárë.”

Finwë was both grateful and disappointed that the linguistic discussion had been deliberately postponed by this Fëanárë, who seemed just as excited to learn Quenya as Rúmil behind him was to learn how the Avari had developed their tongue.

“Fëanárë,” he parroted, careful to imitate the unfamiliar cadence of the name. Enthusiastic nodding indicated his success.

“Rúnissë,” he introduced his companion, and, with a kiss to her cheek, added: “Vereya.”

Then, drawing the tall redhead and his silverhaired companion forward with an arm across their shoulders, he continued the introductions.

“Magitë.” The redhead bowed. “Kyelepemírë.” She curtseyed. “Khínyari.”

The last two redheads he introduced as Kasanárë, the dark-skinned, and Telunárë, with the addition of ‘theleyari’.

“I think those are his wife, children and siblings,” Rúmil whispered from behind in an attempt to be helpful.

“Yes, that was my impression as well.”

Repeating Fëanárë’s gesture from the beginning, he pointed at himself and introduced himself.

“Finwë.”

Now it was the Avari chattering excitedly amongst themselves, speaking so quickly that Finwë barely understood the gist of it: Did he really say what I heard him say?

“Finwë?” Fëanárë asked and stepped closer, examining him. Having found what he was looking for, he nodded, beaming.

“Finwë. Atarinya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity:  
> Fëanárë = Fëanáro  
> Rúnissë = His redheaded wife (no connection to Nerdanel, but I wanted their babies to have red hair)  
> Magitë = Maitimo  
> Kyelepemírë = Genderswapped Tyelkormo
> 
> I will only use Quenya or Tatyarin names, because no-one knows any Sindarin.


	2. Chapter 2

Finwë was blessed, for he had known two mates in his life.

The first was Míriel, also called Therindë, the Broideress, for her skill with loom and needle and all workings of thread and cloth. Strong was the love between them, and on the shores of Cuiviénen they took each other for husband and wife. Stronger still was her love for the stars, and thus it came to pass that she refused the summons of the Valar, and they parted. As he left, she wished only for a child as a remembrance of their love, and for him to find a new love to warm his heart. A year after their parting, she bore him a son, and she named him Fëanárë for the fiery spirit she percieved in him. Weakness befell her after his birth, and evil tongues whispered that he had burned his mother. They went together into the care of her dear friends Airawë Tation and his wife Ornethara, who soon took Míriel as a third into their marriage when she recovered, and Fëanárë grew tall and wise under the care of two mothers and a father, and five younger siblings he gained over time.

The second was Indis the Fair of the Vanyar. His love for her was no lesser, and they were wedded under the light of the trees in Valinor. They had three daughters, Findis, Irimë and Faniel by name, and two sons, Nolofinwë and Arafinwë. Blissful was their life in the house of Finwë, and together they crafted many things of beauty and skill, as was the nature of the Noldor, or assisted their father in matters of court, even after they wedded and spent more time with their spouses and children.

Therefore, Finwë was surrounded not only by his closest friends and advisors, but by his wife and their children and their children’s children as well when Fëanárë declared himself his son.

“Grandfather? Have they come for the celebration tomorrow? Did they bring gifts?” asked Laurefindë with the singlemindedness only a child could possess, tugging at the sleeves of Finwë’s robes and ignoring the sudden silence that had fallen at Fëanárë’s exclamation. There was indeed to be a great celebration at the peak of Laurelins next bloom, to celebrate the anniversary of Laurefindil’s begetting day, and that of his cousins Ehtelëon and Angaráto, who were close to him in age, but too shy to ask in front of strangers.

Indulgent smiles broke the awkward tension, and the little elfling was tugged back by his mother with a whispered “You can ask later”. Finwë took advantage of the moment to lead his son over to the Falmar. Introductions to the Noldor could take place later, when his guests were settled, as well as further explanations. Olwë was sympathetic, and the formal welcome was quickly done with. It nonetheless gave Finwë some much needed respite to regain his composure and to think up a proper approach to the complications that would arise from the implications of Fëanárë’s existence.

There were many customs among the Amanyar that separated them from their Avari kin, some stipulated directly from the Valar and some adopted over time by living together with them. Among those was the law that marriage could only take place between one nér and one nís and would bind the two of them together for eternity. The elves that left with Oromë on the Great Journey had accepted those laws as their own, and their children never learned differently, but they remembered, although they seldom spoke of it, just as they seldom spoke of those they left behind, be they family, lovers or friends. Finwë hoped that his son would prove as reasonable as his mother and help him handle this revelation with as much diplomacy as was possible. And the later the Valar became involved, the better.

 

* * *

 

They returned to find Telunárë sitting on the paved ground, surrounded by all of Finwë’s young grandchildren, creating a story with song. The adults listened in from a little further away. All Noldor were watching spellbound, as little elves made of light acted out the story. Never before had they seen such intricate and tiny manifestations of spell-song. The tale ended with a group of elves following a glowing rider while another group stood waving. Finwë even recognized himself in one of the leaving elves.

“That was beautiful. Thank you.”

Telunárë gave a brilliant smile as he disentagled the pile of elflings that had formed on him and delivered each one to the adults they had arrived with.

“You will be staying in Tirion with us. Once you are settled in, we can talk about what brought you here. You can leave your ship here or take it with you, this harbor is just as safe as the small wharf across the bay.”

Finwë took care to slip into the oldest mode of speech he remembered, having noticed that Fëanárë and his companions understood him better that way, even if his own children and grandchildren did not.

“We will follow, show me where to go.”

Finwë pointed out the quay at the opposite side of the bay before rallying his family around him to cross over as well. On the other shore, it became clear why Fëanárë had not wanted to abandon his ship on Minyalondë. Chest after wooden chest was hauled onto the quay , many obviously heavy going by the effort that had to be put into carrying them. Fortunately, they were able to distribute the weight among the whole group and managed not to leave anything behind.

The procession advanced slowly through the serpentine pathways of Tirion to the palace at the centre of the city. The streets were lined with elves that wanted to sneak a peek at the mysterious strangers. Even though Finwë led them along the shortest way he could think of, it was close to the Mingling when they finally reached the Great Square. The baggage was put down along the walls to be carried away by servants and the tross moved along to primp before the spontaneous feast Finwë had announced on the occasion of their avar-kin’s arrival.

 

* * *

 

Fëanárë was more than a little overwhelmed by the outcome of his little expedition. When he had decided on adding another destination to his frequent trading trips, the choice of going west had been an obvious one. In the south were the dwarves of the Grey Mountains with whom they already traded food and cloth for ore and coal, as well as inventions in mutual exchange. With the quendi to the north and east they bartered with masterwork: Míriel’s embroideries and Fëanárës glimmergems for the delicate gems Malnamírë wrought by the White Mountains or the excellent reed-pipes Curwë still crafted by Cuiviénen. Every time a quendë made an invention it traveled by word of mouth with the trading caravans, but it the sky hunter had chased through the heavens many times since Fëanárë had observed a real breakthrough, and his thirst for knowledge had turned to his parents’ old tales of his father and the people who went west with the bright hunter. There would be ample opportunity to trade, exchange ideas, tell old tales and learn new ones there. He would even admit to the hope of meeting his blood-father, at least from afar.

He had not expected to meet his father the moment he stepped off deck. That encounter had thrown him completely, and he had barely registered the introductions to the Lindi his father had dragged him off to. He was grateful that his youngest brother had managed to charm the Elennei with his song by the time they returned, because he was still busy wrapping his head around the sheer weirdness they encountered. What they had done to their once beautiful language grated on his ears. The radiant light of the trees that had once enchanted his father was dazing and had obviously driven his kin insane. He had yet to spot a quendë who wore less than two layers of clothing where one would suffice, and the way they stared varied from rude to pretentious. It should not have surprised him, the more sensible quendi had stayed put after all.

The city was too bright and there were too many people everywhere, so he was relieved when they were shown to a suite of guest rooms and their trunks were brought in after them. There was ample time for rest before they had to prepare for the feast. It was unusual to dress up for a meal, but seeing the elaborate styles of the quendë this side of the great sea and their reactions to their simple travel clothes had left them with the urge to produce all their finest jewelry and dress each other up to match the pomp of their kin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating now with a rather short second chapter because I will be on an internet-deprived vacation for some time and while I may find time to draft future chapters on my phone, I did not want to leave you hanging on the first


	3. Chapter 3

Findekáno was bored out of his mind. The idle gossips of the court had always annoyed him, since their truthfulness was dubious at best, but seldom had their speculation been this fanciful and outrageous. None of the main gossipmongers had even seen more than a glimpse of the elves that had sailed over the Great Sea, but still they spun the wildest theories and talked about nothing else. Escaping the chatter onto a balcony had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he was bored and hungry and he knew there was no way he could sneak into the hall and back out again without being seen to fetch a plate of food. Sighing, he laid his head down onto his folded arms and leaned further onto the banister.

“It is strange, the stars are barely visible in the bright light.”

How could a nér of that size move this silently? From up close, his alleged cousin seemed even taller, towering over Findekáno. This impression was enforced by the grand headdress that crowned his brilliant red hair. He took a moment to admire the exceptional craftsmanship, for it was wrought of feathers made of shining or blackened silver interspersed with birdfeathers of shimmering black and iridescent green, but the difference was hard to discern. Around his shoulders he had a voluminous black fur that contrasted with his fair skin and the red markings that adorned it. It contrasted just as well with the deep blue robes of Findekáno, and the chains of sapphire and gold that were braided into his dark hair.

“The brightness suits you, cousin.”

His eyes were oddly dark without the brightness the trees infused into every newborn within the first few cycles after their birth. Instead, a different light lingered within.

“So you believe your father?”

“Of course. We all know the stories, and remember. Grandmother lost her husband to the Great March, gramps lost his brother. Gran-gran's siblings all went. Mother's older sister and cousins went as well. And we children learn their names so we may know them when we meet them.”

“But grandfather married grandmother!”

His desperate protest was met only with a blank stare.

“So?”

“He can not be married twice. That's not possible.”

“Who told you that?”

Confused, he sputtered.

“That's just the way it is. The way it has always been.”

“But it hasn't.”

The infuriating Avar had the gall to sound bemused.

“You do realise that marriage is a highly malleable concept? Your grandparents don't even have to be married. Although I suppose they are, since they seem to like each other. They have no reason not to. Míriel, Airawë and Ornethara are all married to each other, while Míriel remains married to Finwë. Do not let your experience of how things are done here colour your perception of how things may be done elsewhere, little cousin.”

Again, he seemed to tower over Findekáno, leaning closer to him as if to emphasise their difference in height. A gentle breeze was catching in the fur and in Findekáno's long sleeves. His indignant response caught in his throat when he noticed that his cousin was shifting the great fur around both their shoulders and hugging him close.

“Is it always like that? The bright light, the sea breeze, too many people and this idleness?”

“Laurelin's light is brighter than Telperion's, but golden rather than silver in colour. Sometimes the seawinds are stronger, but they grow weak by the time they reach Tirion. And the cities are always full of people. Some of the more solitary Eldar have remote estates and there are some smaller villages to the west. Idleness is a way of life here at court. It is affected, since many of us have actual things to do the rest of the time. I don't even know how or why this masquerade developed, but somehow we all pretend to be bored if there were no feasts and balls, even if most guests have to be dragged from their occupations to attend. Although there is little that actually needs to be done, some are very dedicated.”

Findekáno paused when he felt his cousin nuzzle into his braids from behind.

“What are you doing?”

“Don't stop. I like listening to you.”

“What should I talk about then?”

“Tell me about yourself. It has been some time since I last talked to a complete stranger.”

“I am Findekáno, the oldest child of Nolofinwë. I have two younger siblings and four younger cousins. I like to go travelling and explore the continent. I often bring back peculiar woods for grandfather's carving room or more regular ones for myself. I build instruments, and I like to play them as well, although I cannot measure up to great ministrels like Elemmírë. Lately, Findaráto and Turukáno have been joining me, but Ehtelëon, Laurefindë, Angaráto and Irissë are too small yet. We also go to the sea to go swimming and cliff diving. I like the cliff diving most, and climbing in the Pelóri. May I stop now? Monologuing feels weird.”

“Would you play for me some time? My sister Laurelindë is a musician and collector, and I like to help her and tell her of the music I discover, because I travel more and farther than her. She is pregnant, or she would have come as well. I grew up as the eldest as well, but with more younger cousins around. Still, becoming an uncle will be different alltogether. I wonder if Fëanárë would agree. Father is the oldest of six, he was the first to marry and I am the oldest of my cousins after all.”

“I am the oldest as well, although aunt Findis is older than father. She never married and dedicated her life to the Lady Yavanna. She is one of those that have to be literally dragged to court. Only Mahtan is harder to pry away from the forges of Lord Aulë.”

“Mahtan is here? Father will be excited. Come, little cousin. Let's go and see how many recluses have come this time. You can tell me everything about them.”

 

* * *

 

Fëanárë watched his oldest child return to the hall followed by his cousin. He and Rúnissë had been pulled into the middle of things by Finwë the moment they entered the hall, while his children and younger siblings remained free to mingle. He was still undecided whether he envied them. His father proved himself to be an excellent conversationalist and politician. In spite of the persisting slight language barrier, that even the superficial mind-link father and son had settled on could not overcome, Finwë even managed to show off his trade and skills in casual conversation. It was difficult to explain the precise art of gemcrafting using the old words that predated Fëanárë’s inventions, but merely the revelations that the glimmering and glowing gems were not some kind of foreign gemstone but crafted by his own hand had drawn admiring looks. They proved equally interested once he pointed out that his wrist-guards were not made of silver, but truesilver. As that conversation drifted off into explanations about the Khazad that mined the truesilver, Rúnissë slipped away. She had been asked about the little clay bells that made up her tinkling belt, and lapsed into involved discussions about different kinds of clay and pottery. Kyelepemírë had managed to gather a crowd of elves from the household of Oromë with her grand headdress of antlers and chains of claws and teeth and the great lion mane around her shoulders, and they amused each other with enactments of beasts and hunting adventures. Telunárë had attracted an even younger crowd. In a scene reminiscent of his performance in the harbour, he was surrounded by every little elfling in the hall and entertained them with dancing lights. Of all his siblings, he was the one that most resembled their father in nature, but he rarely got to indulge his paternal affinity to its full extent with his father hogging all the little ones in the tribe and all the surrounding ones. Only Kasanárë was alone for the moment, busying herself with the abundant buffet and the many strange foodstuffs, trying them one at a time.

 

* * *

 

The disposition to show off had to be a Tatyarin thing, Laikeldë determined. The Avari were akin to the Noldor like a bird of prey was akin to a bird-of-paradise, fierce and feral, but possessing the same avian elegance and pride. Where the Noldor flittered around in their colourfully layered robes like trilling songbirds, the Avari stalked the room like predators. Her fingers itched to paint the magnificent picture they offered, so delightfully exotic and barbaric. They were still half naked, but had draped themselves with sumptuous furs, elaborate jewelry and glittering gems. She had been studying the Avari since they had entered the hall, but still struggled to find a theme to their extravagance. Except for the contrastingly  plain off-white breeches they all wore, their garb had little in common.

Gathering all her courage along with her long skirts, she approached the dark-skinned Avar that stood alone at the buffet.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I would like to know if I may paint you.”

The nís listened with a cocked head, reminding Laikeldë once again of a bird.

“Magitah?” She gestured with her hands, but Laikeldë could not interpret them. Instead, she pointed at the painting of the starlit sky above the Pelóri, with Taniquetil in the middle, that hung above the buffet between tapestries and decorative wood carvings.

“Painting.”

Now, the nís nodded so that the strings of pearls and ivory in her hair jiggled and let out a gush of words that came so fast Laikeldë could not discern where one ended and the other began, but from the tone, she took it as affirmation.

“Will after the mingling be all right? I prefer to paint in the light of Laurelin, and I think the golden light will suit you well. I can come by to show you the way whenever it suits you. Your relatives may come as well, if they can spare the time. I would like to paint all of you. Will you wear the jewelry still? It looks very extraordinary. I hope we have enough time tomorrow before the celebration.”

In her excitement, Laikeldë was talking faster and faster, but the nís was nodding along.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I am Laikeldë, what is your name?”

“Kasanárë.”

 

* * *

 

That distraction done with, Kasanárë turned her attention back to the bowls and platters of food that covered the long table in front of her. Much of it was familiar, fish and meat prepared in strange ways, but still recognizable as such. Some fruits and vegetables she recognized as well, but there were many more she could not recognize by taste. The same went for the great variety of bread of all kind, from the familiar flatbread to strangely round and voluminous in all kinds of shapes. The spices were a disconcerting mixture of new and familiar, and some dishes tasted almost like her parents’ cooking. It was delightful to see so many differently prepared foods, boiled, stewed, fried, steamed and many others too. Beyond her fondness for food, she was hoping to find edible plants that were worth trading for. Their diet had become more varied than what her parents told her of already, since Elewë had mastered the art of coaxing individual plants from the sleep they lay in so they may bear fruits and sleep again for some time. Fëanárë’s fire-stones eased that task as well, as they collected the light and warmth of the stars and warmed the plants they were set above in turn. For the first time in memory, they had been able to settle down for longer than a few turns of the stars, which made their lives all kinds of easier. Every tree and shrub, once awakened, was easier to wake subsequent times and gave the fruits of their life more readily and more numerous. Míriel was finally able to lay out a garden for her silkworms and those fibrous plants she used to create thread and cloth, Fëanárë built a large forge with all the amenities he needed and had never been able to combine in one place before, and so forth. She was curious what changes this expedition would bring. One thing was certain already: Things would never be the same again.

 

* * *

 

Both Magitë and Findekáno were very aware of the eyes watching them cross the hall. Kasanárë raised an eyebrow when her nephews joined her at the buffet and straightened Magitë’s shawl with a smirk.

“Have you made a new friend?”

“Auntie,” he groaned. “Please, not now.”

Kasanárë snickered and led her nephews along the table.

“You should try this steamed fish, it tastes almost like Airawë’s. And this round, fluffy bread is really weird, but really good as well. Oh, and you might like those colourful roasted vegetables over there, they are seasoned with those awful tulsi leaves you like so much.”

Cheerfully, she recounted her exploration of the buffet. Findekáno listened intently, amazed how much he understood of their conversation by then.

“Take some of those spice stuffed rolls as well, they go well with the mixed grain stew over there.”

Both aunt and nephew looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Magitë, did you-?”

As his aunt glared at him and his cousin looked from one to the other, trying to detect the source of her ire, Magitë felt a blush rise.

“Not on purpose! I didn’t even notice. It just… happened,” he finished lamely.

“What are you talking about? What happened?”

Magitë fidgeted with his bowl and cutlery.

“Could we explain this on the balcony? I’d rather not have the whole hall listen in.”

They finished loading their plates and filed back out onto the balcony. Kasanárë sat down with her back against the banister and patted on the ground for her nephews to join her. Magitë plonked down next to her while Findekáno arranged his robes with some hassle after folding himself into a cross-legged position.

“Go on. Tell him,” she commanded, gesturing with her chopsticks.

Magitë fussed with his fur before taking his food back up and taking a deep breath.

“It’s a bit embarrassing, but I seem to have formed a mind-link with you. That is, a deeper one than the superficial connection I formed to help our understanding along. To do any more than that is supposed to be impossible without consent, nevermind that the attempt is rude to say the least. To succeed without trying is, well… I have heard tales that marriage bonds between the unbegotten formed that way.”

He looked down, perceiving his hands as remarkably fascinating all of a sudden. Findekáno stared, struggling to comprehend what he just heard.

“What does that mean? Are we married now, just like that, without even noticing? Is that what you meant earlier?”

“Calm down. Magitë is only referring to tales. What you two share is nothing more than a permanent mind-link. That it formed just like that shows that you are very compatible. That can be a sign of a great friendship, or something more, if you want, but it does not have to be. For now, you can appreciate the benefits. For example that you understand each other easily.”

She gave an encouraging smile and busied herself with her food.

Again, Magitë pulled Findekáno closer.

“I am sorry if we worried you. There is nothing bad about what happened, it was just unexpected. I’m afraid we both overreacted a little. Nothing has to change, if you don’t want it to, but I would like to get to know you better. Especially since you are the youngest quendë that does not have trouble understanding me.”

Chuckling, he stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth and rested his chin on the crown of Findekáno’s head, effectively declaring the topic closed. For now, Findekáno decided, determined to receive a more thorough explanation later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OCs and changed names in this chapter:  
> Magitë = Maitimo  
> Airawë = OC  
> Ornethara = OC  
> Ehtelëon = Ecthelion  
> Laurefindë = Glorfindel  
> Laurelindë = Genderswapped Makalaurë  
> Fëanárë = Fëanáro  
> Rúnissë = OC  
> Kyelepemírë = Genderswapped Tyelkormo  
> Telunárë = OC  
> Kasanárë = OC  
> Laikeldë = OC  
> Elewë = OC


	4. Chapter 4

She could have done without the headache that was caused by the appearance of her step-son. Indis, like all Minyar, was content with their new life in the Blessed Realm. They had come to Valinor out of loyalty to her unbegotten parents, and because their devotion to the light was greater than their love for the stars. The latter had drawn most Minyar away from Tirion and closer to the slopes of Taniquetil, to dwell at the foot of the Lady Varda Elentári. There, much remained as it had been before the Great March. Indis saw little of that, having remained with her husband in Tirion. The Noldor had diverged more from their Tatyarin origins, and seeing the contrast evoked a wistful wonder in her. Her concern was less for their nudity and ‘bizarre’ jewelry, or their ‘strange and foreign’ language and customs, but rather for the consequences that would follow. Little of what she had seen and heard surprised her. She had known of Míriel before she wed Finwë, and she had known the girl at Cuiviénen. She recognized her influence in her son, and in his siblings, even though it was obvious that a gentler heart had tempered the stubbornness of Míriel. His arrival would drag issues into the spotlight that had remained obscured under the light of the trees. Indis was the firstborn daughter of her people. She knew, and she remembered.

 

* * *

 

On the balcony, the mood was much more lighthearted. The three quendi were sprawled comfortably against each other, nibbling at the last crumbs of their meal. Kasanárë was entertaining Findekáno with tales of Magitë’s childhood adventures, to the embarrassment of the latter.

“Shall I fetch father then? I’m sure he has quite a few stories to tell about you, aunt.”

Kasanárë’s horrified expression only made her nephews laugh harder. Findekáno felt relaxed as he had not for a very long time. He had been born at an inconvenient time. Somehow, his parents fell between generations, so that he grew up with few agemates. Even his oldest cousin was closer in age to his little brother, who had been born when he was already an adult. He knew that Magitë had to be quite a bit older than himself, having three adult younger siblings, but sitting on the balcony with their aunt felt like he had always dreamed having a close cousin felt like, and quite different from spending time with the younger ones he had watched grow up.

Part of that was certainly the fact that they were a lot more physically affectionate, both with each other as well as with him, than he was used to. While he had never lacked hugs from his parents or other relatives when he was a child, they had grown rarer as he grew older, and transformed into clasped hands and patted shoulders. Only Finwë refused to change his habits, cuddlings all his descendants close whenever he could, regardless of their age and assent, muttering about ‘stupid newfangled mores’. Sitting cuddled close to his cousin, he could only agree.

“What was our little cousin talking about earlier at the harbour? The older golden-haired one, Laurefindë I think? I only just remembered, I did not understand a thing, but I have my very own translator here.”

Magitë stumbled a bit over the name, giving it a peculiar cadence.

“The anniversary of Laurefindë’s begetting day will be celebrated today after the Mingling, at the peak of Laurelin’s bloom. Ehtelëon and Angaráto are part of the celebration as well, because they are only a little younger and the exact age has lost relevance.”

“By Mingling you mean the transition from golden light to silver we witnessed on our way to the palace?”

“Exactly. The day begins with Telperion’s bloom. After two hours, he reaches his peak, and four hours later, Laurelin begins to bloom. The hour of the first Mingling follows until Telperion’s light wanes, and two hours later the peak of her bloom follows. Four hours later, Telperion begins to bloom again, that is the second Mingling. The day ends when Laurelin’s light wanes.”

“You mean it is always this bright? And you never see the stars?”

“The light fades if you travel north or south far enough. And it does not reach far beyond the Pelóri, so Alqualondë is in perpetual twilight. Tol Eressëa, where you first landed, enjoys perpetual twilight as well, the Teleri settled there on purpose because they wished to see the stars.”

Kasanárë nodded with a smirk.

“Fëanárë will be disappointed. His greatest commercial success are the multitude of glittering and glowing gems he forges, especially those that gather the light of the stars and pass the focused rays on to the crops below. Those are pretty much useless here, and the ornamental variants are too dim to be seen well in this brightness. And he is convinced that the lack of starlight and the brilliance of the treelight is the cause of your weirdness, but the Lindi we passed were just as strange as you are, so that can’t be it.”

At her last sentence, she and Magitë fell against each other in a fit of laughter.

“So you travelled all this way because he wanted to trade his inventions?”

Slowly, Magitë recovered and waved a hand in negation.

“Not only him. Mother brought her best pottery, auntie her best ivory carvings. We also have some other things from beast that Kyelepemírë hunts, like the furs and leather that aunt Tinmeya cures. Míriel always gives us fabrics and fine threads, and we also brought some truesilver we acquire from the Khazad and pearls all the way from Cuiviénen. Maybe we have even brought something fitting for our little cousins.”

Findekáno hummed, thinking of gifts he could suggest.

“Do you have marbles?” At their blank looks, he elaborated. “Little orbs of glass. Another material may work as well, gemstone, ivory or bone, I think. All kinds of games can be played with marbles. My father gifted me a set of glass marbles he made himself for my first begetting day anniversary. They were beautiful, and I lost all of them before I reached my majority.”

Magitë directed a questioning look towards Kasanárë while she counted along her fingers and muttered under her breath.

“The pearls we brought have no holes, and I have some raw ivory I could carve. The glass beads are too small anyway, the gemstones we brought are faceted or polished already, and metal is too heavy for a small child, even if it is the most durable possibility.”

“What about truesilver?”

“There are some chains and bits of simple pieces of jewelry Fëanárë might allow us to smelt if we find a forge that runs hot enough.”

“What do you mean,  _allow_? He will not allow us to forge gifts for his youngest nephews without him. The only reason he did not go wild when Kyelepelothë was born was you toddling along at his heels. He was just as excited for her as he was for you, it was really cute. He was fussing about, helped weave blankets and clothes, and tinkering with toys, and he did it again for every single child, be it his or a sibling’s. We are lucky that he is so busy with Finwë, or he would be turning the whole city on its head.”

All three giggled like maniacs as they imagined the sight of a Fëanárë-shaped whirlwind tearing through Tirion, and through the preparations of his siblings. That was the sight that greeted Anairë, who had come looking for her son.

“Findekáno, here you are. I have been looking everywhere for you. That fellow attempting to impersonate a kingfisher pointed me towards the balcony, but I should have known you would be hiding-”

Her rant came to an sudden halt when she realized the position he son was in, just as he instantly straightened and fought to regain his composure the moment he recognized his mother.

“Ammë. You were looking for me?”

A fond smile curled Anairë’s lips at her son’s childish address.

“Irissë fell asleep listening to the storyteller, your brother, I think?” she asked with a nod to Kasanárë, who signaled her agreement.

“I was wondering if you could watch her for a while. The hall is too noisy for rest, and I would not want to make anyone leave the feast just to watch her sleep, and you always hide away in quiet corners. You will stay on the balcony a while longer yet, won’t you?”

Findekáno nodded and stood to accept his little sister from his mother’s arms. The tiny toddler wore a tunic tailored from the same fabric as their mother’s topmost robe layer, rendering her almost invisible between the sweeping sleeves. After making sure Irissë was secured in her big brother’s arms, Anairë slipped back inside. Irissë slept on, as swamped in her brother’s sleeves as she was before, visible only due to the contrast of her red tunic to his blue robes. A wisp of dark hair trailed over one of his arms. Magitë shifted around to support Findekáno’s side and arm, embracing him and his sister at the same time.

“I don’t think your mother noticed that I understood her although I should not have,” Kasanárë remarked from the side. “You people are very used to mutually intelligible languages.”

Findekáno shrugged with one shoulder, hesitant to disturb his sister.

“Which reminds me, I think I have an appointment sometime soon with an artist. I barely understood a word she said, she was talking so fast.”

“But you remember her words? You should have no problems understanding her now.”

Kasanárë dutifully repeated what she remembered, delighted that even as she repeated the sentences, she understood what had been incomprehensible before.

“Laikeldë is a competent artist, even if she is a little over-excitable at times. We could go together, all three, if you wish,” Finekáno explained. “I will make sure that the servants know to fetch all of us when she comes by tomorrow. Maybe the rest of your travelling party too? She could paint the six of you together, I am sure grandfather would be delighted to display that in the family wing.”

“I will tell my brothers. Do you think there will be enough time before the festivities?”

“Well, we do not have to arrive at any set time, as long as we arrive well before the end. There will be time enough for everything. I can show you to mother’s forge where we can make the gifts, and there should be more than enough time after that for you to get ready and sit for the portrait.”

He fell silent then, watching the goings-on inside, lost in thought.

“We’ll have to meet with the Loremasters sometime soon. I would like to work on untangling the communication problems. We two have the bond, and somehow that helps Kasanárë as well? But I don’t want to remain dependant on that to talk with you, or with your family, and the others don’t have our advantage. With a linguist’s help, we should manage to work out the differences or somesuch, and find an easy way to teach and learn. I have to admit I never listened to those lectures.”

At the mention of linguists, Magitë’s entire face lit up, making his eyes shine bright as if he had been born to Treelight.

“You have linguists? That’s brilliant. I thought you wouldn’t, because you all speak the same language. What do your linguists do with their time?”

“I have wondered that, myself,” Findekáno admitted. “Rúmil has developed a system of glyphs that can be painted, each signifying a different sound, the Sarati. Those turned out to be actually useful after Rúmil revised them a few times. I can show them to you, later, and maybe introduce you to Rúmil if he’s still around. I just really don’t want to get up now.”

That said, he lay down more comfortably in Magitë’s lap, little Irissë sleeping peacefully on his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

Rúnissë had seldom led conversations that were as silent but eloquent as the one she was having now. She lacked the wanderlust that Fëanárë had learned from Airawë and only joined his trading caravans when he found something or someone she should meet and took her along on a subsequent visit. Thus, she had skipped the usual communication problems that accompanied first meetings until now. She was amazed how much meaning could be conveyed using only gestures and a limited vocabulary she had determined to have remained mostly unchanged over time with the help of her new acquaintances.

She was surrounded by a diverse group of artists and artisans that were eager enough to discuss varying qualities of clay and the influence such irregularities had on their work to disregard the linguistic difficulties entirely. Nerdanel had such inspired ideas about the suitability of blended clays for different purposes while her colleague Istarnië insisted that purity of art could only arise from purity of material. At least that was what Rúnissë believed the three of them were debating as she eagerly knotted notes and ideas into the threads of her belt.

This particular habit of hers sparked another lively debate that soon transcended their limited shared vocabulary. Cultural studies had never really interested her, and the level of abstraction outstripped her willingness to muddle through with gestures and approximations.

Later, they all agreed. There would be time for more of this later. Rúnissë knew that it would not take her long to grow accustomed to the quirks and changes of their language here on the other side of the sea, although the differences were greater than any she had encountered thus far among elves. The spoken and signed languages of the dwarves were an entirely different matter, since they had learned those from their maker. Rúnissë was curious how their myths, and the teachings her people had adapted from their encounters with the White Hunter compared to the reality, if the powers did in fact walk freely among the quendi on this side of the sea as it had been told.

 

* * *

 

Telunárë was having the time of his life. There was at least a dozen children surrounding him, ranging from toddlers that were barely able to walk to gangly adolescents. It puzzled him that none of the adults seemed interested in his stories, except for the occasional parent that stopped by with a child in their arms. It would be an exaggeration to say that it bothered him, but it felt strange to see his audience so reduced.

He told them his favourites nonetheless. He told of the first meeting between elves and the White Hunter, which made his audience whisper among themselves, and followed up with the tale of the dreaming trees. He sang of the frolicking nymphs by the shore, and made sparks and stars dance between his hands. The last story was the old tale of Awakening, the way his oldest grandparents always told it. Some of the older children nodded along as they recognized his narrative, going as far as saying the names along with him. He was delighted to see how some tales transcended time and distance.

The end of his last tale coincided with the feast finally winding down. While shared the almost unlimited ardor for revelry, Telunárë was quite ready to retire and unwind with his family. The silver light was shining softly through the high open arches, just as bright as the golden light earlier, but less glaring. He wondered if that was a quality of the light, or if he was growing accustomed to the constant brightness.

 

* * *

 

It was a relief to return to the guest quarters they had been given. It was exhausting to be among so many strange people for so long, and the court of Finwë was already larger than many tribes they traded with. Most of the wandering tribes consisted only of one or two sets of parents and their descendants, if none of those married into another tribe. Only at the shores of Cuiviénen were a few larger villages, settled since before the Sundering.

The suite was almost stuffed with the myriad of things that were standing within. They had been too excited to put their chests away properly before the feast and had merely taken the time to rummage through, searching for their finery. Furthermore, the rooms were filled with a variety of furniture that was only partially familiar. At home, the only solid piece of furniture in many homes was a wooden chest or two, a throwback to their nomadic past that remained popular long after they had settled down between the river and the sea.

The rugs were more ornamental than functional, and Fëanárë recognized some of the patterns, although the vibrant colours were a notable difference to the austere contrasts that distinguished Míriel’s work. The gentle light of the stars did not favour the riotous colours the Noldor seemed to prefer. The wooden storage things along the walls did not interest him much, but at least the bedding was only slightly different from the soft nests of fur and quilts that they were used to. It was a matter of moments to carry everything into the only room of their guest quarters that did not have an outer wall and windows that let the light in. There, they settled down together to share what they had learned and partake in each other’s experience and wonder.

It was easy fall into rapport. Fëanárë was hearth and home, welcoming each of them in turn, thrumming with contentment at having reconnected with his father. First to join him was Rúnissë, tinkling and mellow like a forest stream, brimming with curiosity on behalf of her newest acquaintances. Kasanárë was next, solid and serene with an undercurrent of amusement that made the others curious. Telunárë flowed into the circle like a breeze in the leaves, intangible but enveloping in his presence. He was still giddy from his hours as storyteller. Contrary to their usual order, it was Kyelepemírë and not Magitë who lowered her barriers next and stepped into the mental embrace of her relatives. She had the aspect of a leaping wolf, excited as she was because of the hunters he had met and the hunt she had been invited on.

Magitë joined them last, and hesitantly. He had something skittish yet hopeful about him, like petrichor and a salty sea-breeze. As they perceived his happiness along with its cause, the entire family rejoiced as one. Even the natural bonds between blood-siblings had to be nurtured. To see one form spontaneously was as precious as it was rare.

Out of the conscious sharing, they drifted into sleep, still sharing in each other’s experiences and emotions. Magitë’s newly-formed bond proved as beneficial then as the parental connection between Fëanárë and Finwë that the two had spent some time coaxing out of its dormant state, imparting upon each of them a deeper understanding of their hosts.

 

* * *

 

As usual, Kyelepemírë woke first. She had always needed less rest than her family, but at home, there was always someone awake she could spend her time with. Instead of waking her sleeping relatives, she slipped out of the suite to wander the empty corridors. Muted silver light was shining in through high arches to one side, illuminating her path as well the the occasional statue or tapestry. She was still struggling to understand why their kin this side of the sea lived and slept between walls and under roofs instead living under the stars, except that the lack of stars may have something to do with it.

It was very beautiful regardless of its history. The colour of delicate structures reminded her of the white limestone coast in the northeast. As she listened carefully, she could even hear the distant crashing of the waves. With a bit of imagination, it was almost a bit like home.

In fact, it was better. All of her kin hunted out of necessity, but few shared her enthusiasm for the chase or her passion for battle. It was different here, where the hunt was for sport, or an act of worship for the White Hunter, and only those wanted to were hunters. She had spoken but little to the hunters she had met at the feast, divided as they were by a common language, but the shared stories of great beasts and how to battle them had created a bond nonetheless. She was looking forward to meeting them again at the feast that was to be held later.

Were it not for her golden hair, Kyelepemírë might have missed the woman standing by the window, camouflaged as she was in her long white dress against the white walls.

“Eldacalië,” Kyelepemírë greeted her, trying not to mangle her name. The syllables nonetheless felt unwieldy on her tongue.

“You do not sleep?” Eldakalië asked.

“I always wake early,” Kyelepemírë admitted. “So I decided to go for a walk.”

Eldacalië smiled happily.

“You speak better. -- do you learn quick?”

“Father likes to travel, and we often accompany him. We have a lot of experience learning new languages. Yours is not the most difficult we have encountered so far, and we learn faster because we help each other.”

As Eldacalië’s expression turned pensive, it became obvious to Kyelepemírë that they were further from being mutually intelligible as she would have liked.

“Don’t worry,” she said in an attempt to reassure Eldacalië. “I understand you well enough.”

“No. Not worried. Only, you sound like mother of my mother speaking.”

“Then you do understand me. Good, I was hoping for that. I wanted to make sure I understood you correctly. That hunt you invited me on, that would be tomorrow? As in, after another phase of silver light has passed?”

“Yes, you remember right. We meet after dawn in the Great Square. Your kin may join us,” Eldacalië said.

Kyelepemírë contemplated the invitation for a moment. He parents had already planned to spend more time with Finwë, Indis and some other people they had met at the feast, as well as meeting more traders and craftsmen to discuss their original purpose for crossing the ocean. Both Kasanárë and Telunárë preferred fishing to hunting and would not join a hunt for fun, and Magitë would only come if his crush was also present.

“I will ask them,” she promised nonetheless.

“Watch the dawn with me?” Eldacalië asked then.

Kyelepemírë was surprised to see that the light was indeed turning to a warmer hue already, announcing the beginning of Laurelin’s bloom. With a gesture of agreement and a smile, she joined Eldacalië at the window to gaze at the spreading golden light. After a moment, Eldacalië began to sing. From what Kyelepemírë understood, it was a song of gratitude for the splendour of the Trees and the grace of the Valar who had invited the elves to share in their gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification: The broken speech some Amanyar use is not them speaking a dumbed down version of Quenya, but their Avari listeners guessing what they mean. Stuff like roots/bases are much easier to identify than any sort of modifiers, which is why their understanding will revert to the simplest forms. For example, where Kyelepemírë understood: “You speak better. -- do you learn quick?”, Eldacalië actually said: “Your Quenya is much better. How did you improve so quickly?”  
> Also, I will shift to referring to the phase of Laurelin’s bloom as “day”, and the phase of Telperion’s bloom as “night”, because I believe that those words existed in Quenya and were only later adapted to refer to the phases of sun and moon. As my Avari squad learns Quenya, they will use those words too, given that they never developed words for phases of light, living as they are under the perpetual light of the stars.


	6. Chapter 6

It was strange, how the alternating phases of illumination regulated the rhythm of life in Valinor. At home, everything happened at its own pace, but here, they were even measuring time and dividing it into parts as if it were a tangible thing. Had Magitë not perceived the truth of it from Findekáno, he would have thought it a joke.

He helped Kasanárë convince the rest of their family that it was a good idea to have themselves painted for posterity. It was not an art form that was widespread under the stars, but in the end, everyone saw the good sense in providing Finwë with a picture of the six of them to show to those whom they would not meet in person. Magitë planned to ask for paintings of Finwë, Indis and their children, and some other long missed relatives in turn, that they could take home and show to those who had not accompanied them.

Findekáno came by as the last silver light faded away to show them around, first to the forges and later to the atelier of Laikeldë. As Magitë had predicted, his father had been adamant to ‘assist’ in the creation of gifts for his little nephews and had commandeered first a simple chain of truesilver that would yield enough material for three sets of small orbs from Magitë’s supplies, and then a forge that was large enough that he could keep his entire family busy with assisting him.

Findekáno watched the spectacle that was Fëanárë in the full measure of a creative frenzy with a blank face, but Magitë could feel how he struggled not to show his amusement. It was an experience in any case, to watch Fëanárë burn with the fire of his spirit. The journey had been too long, and Magitë had missed the way his father could make them all work in harmony.

“I know some who would enjoy watching you work. I visited the forges of Aulë a few times, but I have never seen anything like this. We can suggest it to grandfather later, so he can make arrangements?” Findekáno said.

“Of course. Father will be delighted to visit the forges. Kyelepemírë is invited to a hunt tomorrow, we can join her then, or go with father, whatever you like.”

Magitë had no preference for either activity, convinced that he would enjoy anything in Findekáno’s company. His greatest pleasure when accompanying his father on his travels had always been the meeting of new people, also because of his ability to create strong alliances and agreeable contracts. What he shared with Findekáno transcended that, and they both delighted in it.

“I believe you will like the forges more. You said that you believed that the Maker the dwarves worship is Aulë, and from what you told me I am sure that you will enjoy meeting them, and they will certainly be ecstatic to learn everything you can tell them about dwarves. Your father will be too busy with the craftsmen and Maiar that will surround them as soon as they see him work.”

The last notion made both Findekáno and Magitë smile fondly, Magitë because he knew how much his father relished in teaching and showing off, and Findekáno because he could feel Magitë’s emotions bleeding through.

 

* * *

 

Findekáno accompanied all of them back to their guest suite after that. Magitë had invited him to join their preparations, and Findekáno had gladly accepted, curious to see more of their fascinating ornaments. That it allowed him to spend more time with Magitë and get to know him better was another benefit.

It was strangely familiar, to watch them pass the ornaments around, a constant reminder that their people had once shared a common culture. Getting dressed for important occasions looked very similar among his family, siblings pinning each other’s hair into place with jewelry, trading necklaces for hairpins and bangles for belts. They were even singing a song that seemed almost familiar.

“Lilitë, lilitë, lilitë ornaníë  
Nornorë, nornorë, nornorë ladorlië  
Linidë, linidë, linidë elaníë  
Lasasë, lasasë, lasasë siríen”

The only obvious difference Findekáno noticed was the lack of robes. His parents would help each other into layer after layer of cloth, pull each other’s belts tight and tie the knots and bows properly for each other. Instead of clothing, his newfound relatives were draping each other with jewelry and decorations.

Magitë did not let him watch for long. Supported by Kyelepemírë, he convinced Findekáno to join them and put on a historical Tatyarin or early Noldorin costume. Fëanárë was delighted and immediately offered his help. As the eldest, he was the only one who remembered the fashions that had been worn around the time of the Sundering. Findekáno had doubted the idea, but when Fëanárë dug out a bolt of cloth in the exact shade of blue of Findekáno’s most formal robes, his interest was piqued.

He set aside his tunic and trousers and stood in the middle of the room so that Fëanárë could drape the skirt around his hips properly. Telunárë and Kyelepemírë were going back and forth, collecting a variety of accessories for him while Magitë was preparing a thick red paste to paint Findekáno with the patterns the Tatyar of old had had tattooed onto their bodies. Magitë and Kasanárë were discussing what they had learned about him, which designs would therefore be appropriate for him and so on. Findekáno was awed that the ancient tattoos that he had glimpsed on his grandfather and other older Noldor, and that had been seemed purely ornamental, had such a profound significance.

Magitë was also the one who stepped up to Findekáno with a bowl of paint and a brush once Fëanárë had fastened the result of his efforts with a plaited belt. He received swirls on his collarbones for being the oldest child, and a complicated pattern of straight and curved lines, dots and circles across the back of his shoulders that signified his ancestry. His upper arms got covered with other symbols that stood for his personal qualities, his skills and achievements. Only Findekáno's lower arms remained bare.

"Your lower arms are for your children," Magitë said, pointing out his own bare ones, and the intricate tattoos that covered the entire arms of his parents, aunt and uncle. Only his fingers and hands were stained with a few red lines and dots.

The ritualistic way they prepared him for the painting and the celebration that would follow was wonderful and mythical, a missing link between the traditions Findekáno knew and those he had discovered so recently. He could not help but feel honoured that he had been accepted and welcomed like this by a part of his family he had not even known existed previously, especially when their acceptance into the community of Valinor was still owing formal acknowledgement, as needless as that seemed in the presence of Finwë’s fascination with his firstborn.

 

* * *

 

As much as Kyelepemírë enjoyed the company of her family, she was relieved that most of them would leave for the forges of Aulë, and none had decided to follow the invitation she had extended as proxy and join in on the hunt. To sit for a portrait had been fun, but also more exhausting than she had expected from sitting still and doing nothing. The banquet held afterwards in celebration of Laurefindë, Ehtelëon and Angaráto maturing minds had been grand and exciting, a fitting feast for a trio of children that was ready to begin leaving their childhood behind and learn the skills and responsibilities of an adult. But it had also been more exhausting than the last one, owing that to the fact that, while the novelty of their arrival had not yet worn off, Kyelepemírë understood the other elves much better now and could no longer hide behind the language barrier. Their questions and comments had varied between repetitive and rude, and she had been glad to hide with Eldacalië and her friends after a short while and listen to them as they recounted previous hunting expeditions and made plans for the upcoming one.

Judging by Magitë’s expression as they made their way back to their guest quarters in the silver light, she had gotten off light. His quick friendship with their cousin had drawn the attention of many, and while their family’s approval was pretty unanimous, other’s had made their disapproval clear. Some said the affection between Magitë and Findekáno was only for show and doubted that friendship could develop so quickly, others criticized how close those two had become. But what phrasing the critics chose was irrelevant, it was quite clear that they disapproved between any sort of close relationship between the family Finwë had left behind under the stars and the family he had established under the Treelight. As a stranger, Magitë bore the brunt of that vocal condemnation, and although it was only a small minority, their suspicions and accusations left him disheartened and in need of some cheer. Since Kyelepemírë would be the first to leave, she left the practical implementation to the others, but plenty of plans were made after Magitë had fallen asleep and before the rest of his family followed into the realm of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little song translates as follows:  
>  _Dancing dancing dancing under trees_  
>  _Running running running over the plain_  
>  _Singing singing singing under stars_  
>  _Listening listening listening to the streams_

**Author's Note:**

> I am [varaenthefallen](http://varaenthefallen.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, follow me for headcanons and pretty reblogs. My askbox is always open.


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